Page 17 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
“A lot of style over substance.” He scrunches up his nose. “I’m not a fan of the arrogance.”
“They’re tight. And confident enough to fill a room like this,” I counter.
“Okay, fair.” Padraig nods, soaking it in.
Liam looks like he wants to be on stage more than he wants to breathe. He takes it all in, scanning the room like it’s a battlefield. Sizing up the soundboard. Calculating what he’d do different.
He wants this. To have his own moment.
Padraig leans down, his breath warm against my ear. “I love to see him inspired. It makes me happy.”
He’d never say it, but I feel it. Something’s cracked open in him too. Pure enthusiasm. Radiating off him like static. He’s not watching, he’s wanting.
Maybe I was wrong earlier. This could be his calling.
God, I’m glad I dragged them here. This party surely isn’t about impressing anyone. It’s about giving them a kick in the arse to show up. Get seen. They’re two guys with real talent who were dealt a shitty card, but have a wonderful big brother who’s given them a second chance.
The least they can do is try to build something.
I have no problem helping them out for now. At least until they get their shit together. Or, until it stops making sense.
“Maybe I’ll talk to their merch girl.” I spot a makeshift table with a couple of t-shirts hanging from nails in the wall. “Figure out who booked this gig.”
Padraig glances at me. His mouth doesn’t move, but his eyes say it all. This is what he looks like when he’s grateful
Go for it.
I’m about to make a move when Padraig’s hand slides over mine. I look back at him. “Glad we came?”
He nods. “Yeah. Feels like the start.”
He’s right.
It is.
This is the beginning of everything.
five
Padraig
Six Months Later
It’shardtobelieveStevie, Liam, and I are home for the summer.
Three days back have felt like a year.
Our house is fucking suffocating.
Compared to our last semester, when the three of us immersed ourselves in the Pullman music scene, it’s a hard dose of reality.With Stevie’s help, we were out every night. Eventually, playing a couple basement gigs. A few open mic nights. One acoustic show in an Irish pub.
For now, we’re playing mostly Irish trad songs. We took Stevie’s advice though and wrote half a set of originals. Irish-rooted. Loud as hell. Sharp enough to cut through anything.
If we stick to the plan, by fall, we’ll have two sets ready.
For now, I’m flipping pancakes to give Connor and Ma a break. The syrup bottle is already warm from the heat coming off the stove. The fan overhead whirs a lazy rhythm, blades wobbling with each turn.
It’s too hot for June.
